


Fall

by mrecookies



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Angst, Community: waywardmixes, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrecookies/pseuds/mrecookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Falling in love is glamorous hell." (Carol Ann Duffy, 'You') A series of drabbles/ficlets corresponding to songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Written in conjunction with a fanmix for [waywardmixes](http://waywardmixes.livejournal.com), inspired by Carol Ann Duffy's poem 'You'. See the [mix post at my LJ](http://badglue.livejournal.com/10246.html) for more notes and explanations.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Based on the fictionalized characters as played by Alexander Skarsgård and Stark Sands (and miscellaneous co.) in the HBO miniseries, not the real people.

**01\. Stranger - Brad, Iraq | Nate, USA**

There is an undercurrent of something more, and it sticks like the sand against his skin, rubs him wrong, and doesn't leave, even though he tries his hardest to brush it off. There's too much promise and not enough certainty, so he keeps his mouth shut and follows orders and doesn't wish too hard for home, because home means the redrawing of a firm line between officer and grunt as much as it means showers and food.

*

Nate's palms itch. He stuffs them in his pockets and stares out into the darkness on the porch of Mike's house. He can hear the strains of Ray and Stafford and Poke rapping in the background to the yells of encouragement from the rest of the men.

"All right, sir?" Brad's voice is cool and cuts clear through the fog of the night.

Nate smothers a bittersweet smile and shakes his head. "Not sir anymore, Brad."

They share a look, and it feels familiar and tense and heated all at once, and Nate's throat is ridiculously dry and he tastes sand on his tongue. He swallows and turns and rests a nervous hand on Brad's shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Sergeant."

"I'll take you up on that, sir."

Nate walks back into the house, into the music and the back-slapping and the booze, and ignores the grey eyes that follow him around for the remainder of the party.

 

**02\. Half of My Heart - Nate, Brad | England**

He finds himself outside a small apartment. It's been raining; his black duffle is dotted even darker. The knock echoes louder than it should sound in the corridor and Nate tells himself that he's being stupid but then the door opens and Brad's there.

Brad grins sharply and grabs the bag and nods for Nate to follow. There's takeout and beer and a surprisingly comfortable couch. They end up watching The X Factor on the television with Brad making increasingly snide remarks about some of the contestants. At first, Nate cringes inwardly at some of the admittedly creative insults ("Going civilian soft on me, LT?" "Fuck off, Brad.") but when a middle-aged woman brings out a supposed singing cat, he gives up and relaxes against Brad's arm that's draped along the spine of the sofa and joins in.

He doesn't think about how Brad's body tenses up. They've talked about it before, in between the short bulletins via email about the platoon's activities, the short visits between semesters at Harvard, the kisses that always end up with gentle but firm fingers pushing Nate away while still clinging on to his shirt. The girl from high school. The best friend from high school. The betrayal, the wedding, the pictures.

Nate doesn't think about all this, but presses his shoulders determinedly against Brad's arm and drinks his beer and waits for Brad to stop looking at him.

 

**03\. Volcano - Brad, England | Nate, USA**

It's late, and he's tired. He can't stand the same arguments again:

I'm sorry I need time you deserve better we don't need to talk about this please stay this is not working out please go I need time to figure things out forget about me fuck you 

hidden within:

twisted expressions and no messages and that Iceman stoic glare past Nate's ear that he hates

because it's not fair.

It's late, and he's tired. When Brad finally calls, he doesn't answer.

 

**04\. Heartbeats - Brad, Nate | USA**

Brad turns up at his apartment in a polo shirt and slacks, looking uncomfortable and nervous. It's a rare moment, and Nate can't believe that he's awake for a few minutes, until Brad clears his throat. They step inside.

After class there's time for pizza and beer, and they end up watching TV on Nate's battered couch, just like how they did over there in England, except now Brad's hands are firmly in his lap around the cold bottle.

The beer helps, but it's the feeling of Brad's skin under Nate's palm that opens and warms them up. They don't stay up talking for too long, because that would be too similar to a romantic comedy featuring Jennifer Aniston and some guy, but Nate does fall asleep on Brad, and in the morning, it's not awkward at all.

 

**05\. Babylon - Brad, Nate | England**

"LT?"

"Brad."

"You should have called- where are you staying?"

"Bed and breakfast, few streets down. The pub next to it is great for brooding nights with alcohol, I hear."

"Uh huh, and what manner of pockmarked landlord dicksuck managed to swindle you out of your pocket money for the weekend? He's probably going through your room right now and scattering steak and kidney pie and piss-poor beer all over the sheets in preparation for an inflated bill the size of Ray's ability to spout bullshit."

"If that's your way of offering me to stay at your fucking place, Brad, I accept."

"Taking advantage of your former TL's limited accommodation? You can take a man out from Command and not the other way around, it seems."

"And you can sleep on the couch, asshole."

*

"What time's your flight?"

"Hmmm? T'morrow. Six-thirty. C'mere."

*

"Hey Brad?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be a stranger."

"Don't make me hack into your phone and change the alarm to Ray singing the chorus to the Thong Song."

 

**06\. Green Eyes - Brad | USA**

The key is small and warm in his hand, and he can feel it digging into his skin. The papers shuffle about in his backpack and he shuts his eyes for a moment before steeling his jaw and going into Nate's apartment. It's empty; Nate's in class at the moment, listening to some liberal hippie-fucking Professor drone on about one thing or another. The backpack goes under the desk in the corner; the papers he places on the kitchen table, already signed and stamped. He takes a shower, cooks dinner, and waits to tell Nate that he's re-upping for another tour in six months.

 

**07\. Piazza, New York Catcher - Brad, Nate | USA**

They take time off to have fun, because Brad thinks that Nate needs to _chillax_ , and Nate thinks that _chillax_ is _passé_ and nudges Brad in the ribs and makes him choke on a burger.

There's a platoon picnic, and Ray is there with his fiancée, who dryly points out the fantastical lies he mixes with his truth. There's Mike, who pats Nate on the shoulder and informs him that his daughters have a crush on Brad. They sit down on the grass and reminisce with children and wives and girlfriends in the background, and Nate feels right at home.

There's a too-fast bike ride down to one of California's beaches, and Nate watches from his place in the sand as Brad goes surfing. There's a visit to a museum somewhere along the way, and Brad listens gravely as Nate points out some things he's learned from class.

Then there are the nights in which they find themselves being disgustingly domestic, the both of them in bed with Nate reading up on China-US relations and Brad with the latest copy of his favorite technological magazine.

In the end, Nate does _chillax_ , and it's Brad's turn to poke him in the ribs.

 

**08\. Delicate - Brad, Nate | USA**

At first, there are rules. No kissing in public, no hand holding, definitely no pet names. Everything is locked up safe in private rooms and dark corners, any pent-up tension released only when they are alone.

At first, it works. Brad doesn't like all the PDA that's rampant in the world anyway, and is constantly bitching about people on the subway swapping spit like ill-bred Neanderthals. Nate has always been a private kind of guy who'd much prefer to stay out of the limelight, and besides, he doesn't want Brad to lose his job just because of some bigoted assholes.

But then they watch as their friends grow up and get married and have children. Even Ray goddamned goat-fucking Person finally gets hitched and has a little baby girl who thinks of Brad as her personal fairy godmother. (He buys her cammie pajamas; she paints his toenails with grey glitter nail polish.)

It's not like Brad suddenly had a change of heart and wants to kiss and hug and pet Nate in public. It's not like Nate suddenly wants to yank Brad out on the top of the world and give him a blowjob and brand him with his name on Brad's ass.

No, they just want to be together, and it's just plain fucking unfair that they have to hide when no one else does.

 

**09\. Still - Brad, Iraq | Nate, USA | Brad, Nate | USA**

It's night out in the desert, which means it's pretty fucking cold, and so he lies back and thinks of Nate, because England is a cold hard bitch who offers little comfort. He doesn't think about the way Nate feels against him and on him and under him. Not his eyes or his mouth or his dimples. He thinks about how Nate sings in the shower, and how his desk is always cluttered with red pens, and maybe it's still too fucking cold, but he goes to sleep, and he doesn't dream.

*

It's summer and it's hot and Nate hates the way his tie feels around his neck, hates coming home to an empty apartment, hates cooking for one. He's glad it's Brad's last tour of Iraq. He goes through his routine: check messages, short run, shower, dinner, tv, check messages, nightly ablutions, bed. He dreams of Brad and he dreams of home and he wakes up in the morning feeling slightly off-kilter but the routine goes on anyway: morning ablutions, coffee, stretching, run, shower, change of clothes, breakfast, check messages, work.

*

He rides the wave right down to where it bursts onto Nate's hips, leaving bruises in the shape of his fingers. A shuddering gasp escapes from his lips and he sobs, fucking _sobs_ , into Nate's neck as they rock together on the puddle of blankets and clothes. His breaths and Nate's are in sync, deep, desperate, as though they've both given too much and it's still not enough.

 

**10\. Crossfire - Nate; Brad, Nate | USA**

It scares Nate that it's been close to eight years. It scares Nate that certain people will find out and drag the two of them under the microscope. It scares Nate that both of them can lose their jobs.

Nate loves his work. It's stressful and filled with paperwork, but he loves it as much as Brad loves the Corps.

It's not enough, and it's unfair, but it is what the world is, and Marines make do.

*

The day DADT is over is the day they dare to kiss in public for the first time, but there's no one to see except Mrs Horowitz next door, who mutters something about a bet with her husband and grins cheekily at the both of them. Nate's ears are red and Brad's lips twitch but at least it's done.

Mission accomplished.

There are calls from Ray and Mike, and emails from the rest of the platoon. There are calls from their families, and Brad receives an email from Jess and Dave. There are no big celebrations.

That night, they lie in bed, and it's quiet. Nate reaches out and holds Brad's hand. And maybe that's all they need. They sleep. They dream.

 

**11\. When It's Time - Brad, Nate | USA**

"What the fuck is this?" He holds the package suspiciously, like undetonated ordnance, even though it looks tiny in his hands. "Did Person call?"

He knows Nate's face and Nate's eyes and Nate's looks, and right now they're too innocent and wide and carefully blank.

"No. You should probably open that." Nate munches at his scrambled eggs, and Brad's eyes follow him as he walks back into their kitchen. "It's not porn."

Brad doesn't give a fuck if it's porn. Ray sends him issues of Hustler all the time, and there are some emails that Brad deletes right away because of the subject lines. He does, however, give a really large fuck if it's from Nate, because this is small and shaped like a box and his chest is suddenly too tight.

"I know you're not a fan of marriage," Nate says softly from behind him. "It's not a proposal or anything. Just saw it and thought of you."

That's bullshit, because if Nate's anything, he's deliberate and thinks through everything twice before enacting a well-rehearsed plan.

Brad reads the engraving and he smiles, back still to Nate. He takes off his dog tags and slips the ring onto the ball chain and puts the metal back around his neck. It feels right and so does the kiss he slides into Nate's mouth.

 

**12\. Some Surprise - Brad, Nate | USA**

It's terrible, but they fall into a rhythm.

Nate makes coffee. Brad makes sandwiches.

Brad sets aside the international news section while Nate showers. Nate makes sure that Brad's magazine subscriptions don't expire.

Nate answers the phone. Brad hangs up on Ray.

Brad makes sure Nate remembers to eat. Nate stocks up their fridge with the good beer.

It's terrible, but sometimes there's a kiss and maybe that makes it even more terrible because they're almost married but it's good and it's okay.

 

**13\. Venn Diagram - Brad, Nate | USA**

He watches as dawn arrives in its stealthy glory. The light stretches across the bed, stroking the blankets lightly as it descends onto messy hair and closed eyelids that hide deep green irises.

He sits still, because he needs to commit it all to memory, every purplish-blue of the nights before, gently inked onto Nate's pale skin like tattoos, marked with ghosts of pain and passion. The sun moves lazily and he watches Nate shift and murmur into the pillow, and Brad grins as Nate's leg suddenly kicks out against the sheets.

Soon, he'll slip out of bed and out of the house quietly, grab his board and head for the waves for a quick surf. In another half an hour he'll shake most of the water and the sand off, and drop by the store to get a couple of sandwiches. He'll return, as silent as possible, to a still-sleeping Nate. He'll shower and Nate will get up and scold him half-heartedly for not waking him, and they'll have breakfast over coffee and sandwiches and the papers.

The ring clinks against the dog tags he still wears. The sound is right, and enough, and fair. He moves off the bed, and the day begins.


End file.
